


even so

by windwaves



Series: your song is the only thing i hear [4]
Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windwaves/pseuds/windwaves
Summary: “are you listening, ban?”there has only ever been one answer to that question, however many times yuki asks.
Relationships: Oogami Banri/Yuki
Series: your song is the only thing i hear [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050269
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	even so

**Author's Note:**

> happy yuki day.

それでも見ているから  
even so, i’m watching  
— 雲と幽霊, ヨルシカ // kumo to yuurei, yorushika 

* * *

the first time he sees yuki again—actually sees yuki in person, up close—yuki has his head bent and bowed, hair hiding his face. but banri recognises the weary set of his shoulders, the way he's absently rubbing at his wrist. something tugs at him, demands he goes to yuki and ask if he's eaten and drank enough water, if he's slept enough recently.

it's so difficult and surprisingly easy to turn away. he's only here briefly to drop off some urgent documents, he doesn't dare to linger. if momo saw him—or worse, yuki—he's afraid of how they would react. he doesn't want them to falter now, having come so far already.

his hands are shaking on the train back to the office, and he doesn't know why.

there is a future where he and yuki are re:vale.

there is a future where he stands next to yuki, where yuki is still coming to him first for guidance, where he wakes up and finds yuki asleep at the kotatsu because he'd been up so late he forgot to go to bed, where he makes pencil annotations to yuki's messy scribbles, sharing music between them as easily as they shared everything else. there is a future where the lights are bright but yuki's smile is brighter, where banri reaches a hand out and finds yuki there like he was always meant to be there.

at that time, the future had been another year of this—the scraping by, the three jobs, shitty gigs, high energy lives, making do with a tiny apartment that could barely fit the two of them, yuki's laughter and song in between the long days and longer nights. it had been okazaki agency and the promise of a debut, bright lights and tears and all the dreams the two of them built out of scrap note paper and guitar strings.

it had all come crashing down, of course. all the plans, the dreams.

courage is something that has never come easily to banri, walking a path someone else has walked before is hardly courage. for all his certainty in moving forward, in trying new things, banri knows himself well enough that he wouldn't call himself brave.

because brave would mean seeing yuki again, it would mean not avoiding him, not pretending that five years hasn't passed. that it doesn't sometimes ache to see yuki and realise that he doesn't know yuki the best anymore, that he's not the first one yuki calls for anything at all.

but he did that to himself, so he cannot complain. and somehow, yuki is still here, still reaching for him.

and banri—

well, if banri's honest, then he's afraid. afraid to let yuki become so important again, to be so important to yuki again. some part of him misses it desperately, the knowledge that someone cared about him as deeply as he had cared. but it scares him to think of then, and it scares him even more to think yuki would have thrown it all away for him.

bravery is not something banri is good at, which was why he left in the first place.

the lights flash past as banri drives. they're on their way home after a recording session, and sougo looks exhausted in comparison to tamaki, resting his head against the window with his eyes closed.

“ne, ban-chan, what were you and yukirin like?”

 _young,_ banri thinks. but that's not the right answer to tamaki's question.

“why do you ask?”

“i wanna know! ban-chan is super cool and re:vale is also really cool, so you and yukirin must have been super duper cool, right?”

that makes banri laugh, because it sounds like something momo had said about them once. banri thinks they were hardly cool then, but then he's looking at all the blood, sweat, and tears of those years, not the glittering stage the fans saw.

“some people thought we were,” banri agrees. “we had a lot of fans.”

“as many as us?” tamaki sounds faintly possessive, and banri thinks he is so young still.

“no, not so many. we never got to debut, after all.” his grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“ban-chan must have been really cool though, right? i wish i could hear ban-chan sing.”

banri laughs. “i only sing at karaoke these days.” he hasn't been anywhere near a stage in almost five years after all. the idea of standing in the middle of a stage still makes something in him clench, some part fear and some part the exhilaration at the possibility of performing again.

“then let's go karaoke!” tamaki pronounces, like he hasn't just come off a three hour recording stint.

“i think it's a bit late for that,” sougo interjects. “also we need to be up early tomorrow.”

“sou-chan's no fun,” tamaki complains.

“i'm sure he's just tired. he's been extra busy this week, after all.” banri's tone is placating. tamaki grumbles to himself, but he doesn't say anything else. banri knows how nerve-wracking it is, having seen yuki in the throes of composing hell for years. sougo cares so much about what people think, but like yuki, he cannot deny himself in this. this is what he wants people to hear, and for the first time, sougo is being heard.

he flicks the indicator and turns off the main road, quieter now they're almost back at the dorms. tamaki's scrambling out as soon as banri cuts the engine, but sougo pauses a moment after he unbuckles his seat belt, and banri waits.

“is it supposed to be this terrifying?” he asks, uncertain. “was it like this with yuki-san?”

“yeah, it was.” because banri still remembers how terrifying the first live had been, that first real one which really mattered, how it always felt before they got on stage, how it never really went away. “but it was worth it.”

sougo bites his lip, still unsure of himself. banri smiles and leans over to pat his shoulder.

“it'll be fine, sougo-kun. you've done a good job.”

the grateful look on sougo's face sends banri back eight years, and banri smiles stiffly as sougo gathers himself and gets out. he watches sougo close the door behind him and the lights come on, then turns his attention back to the empty road.

it takes a while before he starts the engine, hands tight around the steering wheel so they don’t tremble.

sometimes he feels like he doesn't deserve the kindness yuki offers him, the invitations for drinks or dinner or just to talk. some part of him misses yuki, the other part is deflecting with work and other things so he doesn't have to think about it.

it goes beyond the distance and the years to examining himself and his failures. he can say he wanted yuki to stay focused, he can say that it mattered more to him that yuki could sing and people would hear, but in the end it doesn't change the fact that he'd hurt yuki badly with his leaving. he had weighed the options and believed that yuki would survive without him, that yuki could survive without him.

it had been a gamble, and he'd been right. he'd won and re:vale are now at the top of the world, nigh untouchable because he'd made that gamble. he's proud of them for making it through, that they're standing there as proof of the dream he'd had for yuki.

for yuki, he says. always for yuki.

banri wonders when he'd become so good at denying himself.

he dreams of the sea, the ocean. he doesn't know if it's a specific beach, or it's just a mishmash of memories piled on top of each other, smoothing out to white sand and blue water, salt and the cry of seagulls overhead.

yuki is there, trousers rolled up to his knees as he stands in the water, hair flying in the wind. he looks something out of banri's memory, younger and older and all the things he has built himself to be. he looks like a mess and one of japan's top idols, pencil smudges on his cheek and perfectly made up. he looks like _yuki_ , everything he's lived through and more.

something in banri twists at the sight of him.

he's singing, but it's not a song banri recognises. not one from their days together, nor any of re:vale's songs. when he catches sight of banri, his eyes crinkle in a smile, but he doesn't stop singing.

“is that new?” banri asks, when he finishes.

yuki laughs. “don't you remember it, ban?”

it's a dream and it follows the logic of dreams, so yuki is handing him a guitar produced from somewhere or another. his fingers must remember something his mind does not, because he starts playing, and yuki starts singing again, his smile irrepressible.

 _do you remember now, ban?_ he seems to ask. banri doesn’t know what he’s meant to remember. the way yuki looks when he’s singing for banri? how it feels to stand next to yuki with a guitar in his hands? this song or not song, this version of him, of them?

he wakes up, the memory of yuki's laughter reverberating through his chest.

“ban.”

“hm?”

“you know if you need help, you can ask for it?” yuki asks. there's a concerned frown, and banri wishes he could smooth that expression away. yuki shouldn't have to worry about him.

“you've become so reliable,” banri says, in lieu of an actual answer. yuki's eyebrows draw together, but he doesn't press banri any further.

sometimes he forgets that yuki knows him as well, the same way he knows yuki. too well, and not well enough at all, after these years. yuki now is more expressive outwardly, more careful with his words. he has gotten older and wiser and there's a difference in the way he carries himself, an assuredness that comes from having made his way to where he was on his own merit.

banri doesn't know how difficult it was or how much yuki had struggled to get here; that's his and momo's story, there are secrets that banri is not privy to. he’s never asked, not because he doesn’t want to know, but because it’s not for him to know. he’s sure if he asks, yuki would tell him everything. but in some ways, banri already knows. he hears it in every song yuki writes, all the things yuki has never known how to say in any other way. banri is proud of him and momo both, because yuki had become everything banri had ever believed he could be and more.

“thank you,” he says. the look yuki gives him is long and measured, understanding born from years of being almost everything to each other. he reaches over and squeezes banri's hand briefly, reassurance and patience.

“whenever you're ready, ban,” yuki says. the way he smiles at banri is nearly enough to make banri crumble.

there is an almost instinctive fluency, a sort of language composed entirely of deflective sentences and non-committal answers that exists between him and yuki. banri is relearning it, but something about it feels terribly fragile, like they're both afraid to push too far where before, it would have just ended with them curled together, laughing.

somehow, they've come to a point where it is not enough and banri knows he owes it to yuki to sit down and have a conversation. a proper one, instead of both of them skating over things they need to talk about. he's just not sure how to go about it, or if he's ready to talk to yuki. he’s sure yuki must be thinking the same, both of them too afraid to push too far.

sougo notices, because he's perceptive like that. he asks when they're waiting for tamaki to wrap up a talk segment, sougo already having gone first.

“you and yuki-san were very close, weren't you?” sougo asks.

“i suppose,” banri says. _close_ is one way to put it, though banri is not sure what he would have called it himself.

“sometimes he asks about you,” sougo says. “if you're looking after yourself, not working too hard.”

“oh dear. do i look that bad?” sougo immediately blanches and backtracks, waving his hands.

“no, no! you look fine!” sougo looks like he's trying to find the right words, biting his lip. “i think he's just concerned about you, banri-san.”

“well, there's nothing to worry about, is there?” banri smiles. it's his job to worry about them, not the other way around.

“i hope not, banri-san.” sougo looks over at tamaki, who is grinning as he gestures and talks. sougo looks like he’s weighing his words, and banri feels like he’s about to get told off. “sometimes it can be hard to talk about things, but once you let it all out, it's easier to face them.”

banri gives that some thought, but sougo makes a fair point. once things are out, they are out there to be dealt with, not a tangled mess of speculation and fear inside banri’s head.

“you can depend on us as well, banri-san,” sougo adds. “or at least, i hope you can.”

that makes banri smile, albeit a little sadly. they shouldn’t be worrying about him, but he’s grateful for their concern and care. “thank you, sougo-kun.”

sougo smiles at him, and banri wonders when did he start needing people to push him to face his problems.

sometimes he thinks about then. not the lives and the music but the more ordinary things. waiting at bus stops for the last bus, dropping by the konbini on the way home, two of them in banri’s favourite music shop, how wide the sky could be when it was the two of them lying on the riverbank, talking about nothing in particular.

it's a far cry from where either of them are today. he watches yuki from afar these days instead of standing next to him, passing him by during work instead of coming home to yuki. yuki texts him more than they talk, and banri doesn't answer nearly as often as he should.

some things are still the same. the sky is still blue and endlessly wide when he looks up, sometimes banri is still waiting for the last bus to take him home. yuki is still singing, and for all the things that have changed, this is the one hasn't. 

banri is still listening.

he calls yuki.

he doesn't know why he does it. he's still in the office, just finishing up some paperwork for tomorrow. it's late, yuki's probably asleep considering the time, yuki definitely won't answer if he's asleep, because banri knows how deeply yuki sleeps, how difficult it is to wake him.

but against all odds, yuki picks up.

“hello? ban?” he sounds half asleep. banri's instinct is to hang up and let him sleep. but he tightens his grip around his phone and doesn't say anything, unable to hang up or talk.

“ban?” yuki sounds concerned now, and there's a rustling noise. he must be getting up, banri thinks. “ban, are you alright?”

“yeah,” banri manages to get out. this is very stupid, he thinks. he shouldn't have called. it's been a long day and yuki must have been busy too. “it's nothing. go back to sleep.”

“ban.”

“i'm sorry for waking you up.”

“you're not alright, are you?” yuki asks.

banri pauses at that. he wonders, because nothing is really wrong. 

the silence stretches on too long before yuki breaks it.

“do you want me to meet you somewhere, or do you want to come over?”

banri considers that for a moment. they could go anywhere, really. he has the car keys and he knows the president won’t mind.

“can we go somewhere?” banri asks, despite himself. he should go home and go to bed himself, and let yuki go back to sleep. but he’s asking anyways, because maybe courage isn’t the absence of fear, it is the asking, the finding it in himself to ask.

“of course, ban.” yuki's voice is gentle when he answers, in a way that somehow says _anything you want_.

“i'll be there in twenty minutes.”

yuki is asleep in the passenger seat. he'd been sleepy when banri had picked him up and when it was clear banri wasn't about to start talking, he'd fallen asleep. banri glances over at him briefly before he looks at the road again, empty except for the occasional truck at this time of day. it gives him time to think, now that he's forced the issue.

banri thinks about then and now, about how different they are and somehow still the same. yuki still looks at banri like he's trying to figure out the shape of his guilt for making it and leaving banri behind, and banri has his own guilt about the way things had played out in the end. 

he'd been certain they would make it. they were almost there, after all. they'd already been offered a contract in principle, and all that was left was to go over the details of the contract and sign it.

he hadn't anticipated kujou or what happened next; he'd never thought that he was something that yuki couldn't live without. it had been something of a slow realisation, the kind with consequences banri couldn't live with. he still thinks about what happened then. if he'd been more aware, if they'd taken kujou more seriously, if he'd stayed and talked yuki out of saying yes to kujou, if he'd signed them to okazaki productions first instead of hesitating about it.

banri had thought a lot about the future then—the kinds where they made it, the ones where they didn't. building nonsense dreams of living in tokyo skytree or more plausible ones of living in shinjuku or odaiba, of sold out concerts and a proper recording studio, all the instruments yuki could want and then some. late nights bleeding into early mornings, their days adding up to months and years. it had never been about money or fame or making it big, because even if they failed to make it banri had still imagined a them, a sort of future that had involved the two of them being together somehow.

in all the futures he'd imagined, he'd never been able to imagine a world where yuki didn't sing.

he's staring at the horizon when yuki makes his way over, tugging his coat closer as he picks his way across the beach.

“you could have woken me up,” he says. banri raises an eyebrow at that and yuki scowls. “it's not that bad anymore.”

“if you say so.” banri shrugs agreeably, and yuki just scowls harder.

“i forgot you could be like this,” he mutters. banri just smiles, ignoring the way yuki squints suspiciously at him.

they stand in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. banri supposes now is as good a time as any, especially for something so long overdue. 

“i'm sorry i left the way i did.”

yuki grows very still at the words. banri watches him, the way he presses his lips together and refuses to look at banri. he can't tell what yuki is thinking at all, and it's terrifying.

“i thought that maybe you hated me,” yuki says finally, arms wrapped around himself.

“i don't hate you,” banri says automatically. “i never could, never have.”

“it feels so stupid when you say it like that,” yuki murmurs. but banri supposes he can't blame yuki. he knows yuki well enough to know that yuki doesn't do well with people, and even more so when he actually cares about someone. they’ve never been the kind of people to talk it out, to be so explicit about it. yuki will tell him all sorts of things in roundabout ways, writing songs and lyrics that say everything and nothing. banri likewise just took care of the things yuki would forget about, making sure yuki ate and slept and made it to all the places he needed to be, and listened to all the things yuki had to say to him.

“did you hate me?” banri asks. yuki considers that for a moment, then he shakes his head.

“i thought i did, but mostly i just missed you.” he makes a helpless sort of gesture. “you were just, _gone_.”

there is a world of pain in that word. banri doesn't really have an answer for it, because he knows it can't undo what happened then. he can't take it back, he can’t make it better.

“i'm here, now,” he says softly.

yuki turns to face him slowly, expression unreadable. “you are.”

he's not sure which of them moves first, or whether either of them moves at all. this could be a dream, banri thinks. the wind, the sea, the waves crashing, and yuki. always yuki. it's a lot like the dreams he has sometimes.

but yuki is real, solid in his arms.

the way yuki feels in his arms is almost like coming home again, quietly inevitable in the same way the waves meet the shore. their years between them, and still this is where banri finds himself. older now, a little wiser, a little more weighed down by life. but he's here and so is yuki, the two of them falling together again.

yuki is humming under his breath, fingers restless in a way that banri knows means he has a song in his head again.

“are you listening, ban?”

there has only ever been one answer to that question, however many times yuki asks.

“of course.”


End file.
